Thursday, November 11, 2010

Thank you to everyone who has served our great country, and to those that are still active. I'd also like to give a shout out to all the women from Honor Flight W001 USAF 1990. I miss you guys. Tanya I miss you most. What are the odds of bunking in boot, and then rooming in Tech? That's right...very slim. We had a lot of fun huh? No worries though. We shall meet again sooner or later.

This video is from Postsecret.com . I love my books and my weird and/or un-ordinary things

Saturday, October 2, 2010

~~~Update 10/2/2010~~ I am not a fan of clowns. I loathe them. Of course they have never done anything to me physically, but mentally they messed me up. I try to like them, I really do, but again and again they haunt my dreams. Grrrrrr!!! I hate Poltergiest!

Oh boy. Lyn is at it again. Posting stuff that makes no sense except inside her twisted mind.

Screeeeech! Hold on a second I have to drop Jenny off. Thank you for plugging the clown idea in my head. Brrrr.

"Clowns" won the starter spot on my investigation into freaks & frights and things that go bump in the night. My investigation is not to be taken seriously. This is purely for my own amusement and hopefully yours.

When you think of clowns what is the first image to pop into your head? Is it an image or a feeling? Do you get mushy and remember going to the circus with mom & dad? Or is it more like a irrational fear to run as far as you can from the man/woman in face paint? What clown popped into your head when you started reading this?

Coulrophobia is an abnormal or exaggerated fear of clowns.

I've had a hard time thinking that clowns are anything but EVIL. OK. So it is my point of view. Maybe you like the freaky haired, overly face painted works of wonder. Me? Nope! Yes I do realize that there are "nice" clowns out there trying to make a living. Good for them. I promise not to be mean should I run into one.

I am not going to sit here and tell you how messed up my little (10 yr. old?) head became when the clown attacked the boy in "Poltergiest", or how I love Stephen King but hate "IT". Don't even get me started on the whole Ronald Mc D thing. Yikes.

I scrounged around for amusing clown sites and hit a few. This one is from Bizarre.com. I'll let the following speak for itself.

It’s official: Children hate clowns. A recent study that quizzed 250 children in a pediatric hospital ward found thatall 250 of them were afraid of the various clown imagery that decorated the wing. As though terminal illness wasn’t enough. Penny Curtis, a professor who worked on the study, is quoted as saying “We found that clowns are universally disliked by children. Some found them quite frightening and unknowable.”

So what is it about clowns that is so terrifying? We decided to find out. Hence, we’d like to present Best Week Ever’s Top 10 Things That Make Clowns Scary.

10. Big Feet. You know what they say about men with big feet? They have big tendencies to got you in the face while you sleep. They also have gigantic snow white p****es. Gigantic snow white p****es Think about it.

9. All Movies Written About Killer Clowns are Probably Based on True Stories. In all seriousness, there was probably at one time or another a h***in-addicted clown named Shakes who was also, strangely, Bob Goldthwait. And what else happens in Derry, Maine if not for a child-killing clown named It? But perhaps no movie was more scarring to the reputation of clowns than the 1988 classic Killer Klowns from Outer Space, a likely true story about puke-inducing alien clowns with pointy teeth and evil eyes who trap their victims in cotton candy cocoons. If ever a movie scarred my small, child brain at the age of 7, it was KK from OS.

8. Grown Men with Freckles Painted on Their Face is Inherently Terrifying. Enough said.

7. Most Clowns Are Alcoholics and Urinate Everywhere. Tell-tale sign number one that most to all clowns are alkies? They have humongous flame red bulbous noses. Tell-tale sign number two that most clowns are probably hitting the sauce with a green-gloved fist? Wouldn’t you bathe in apple-tinis if your entire life was based around living a paint-faced lie? And as far as urinating everywhere is concerned, I’m pretty sure circuses don’t have working toilets for a reason. Luckily, because clowns sh*t cotton candy, going number 2 behind a Chevy Pick-up is never really much of a problem.

6. Hyuk Hyuk Laughter. Who the f**k laughs like that? Seriously, have you ever heard a normal, mentally sane person emit a laugh that sounds like their starting the engine of a Model T car? No, really, other than Goofy – who is a 6 foot tall animated Disney Dog who wears pants — I’m pretty sure no human being “Hyuk Hyuk”’s their way through an episode of Seinfeld, you read me?

5. They Wear Onesies. What sort of baby infantile diaper-fetish craziness is that all about?

4. Clowns Molest People. If you weren’t aware that clowns molest people, do yourself a favor and add the creepumentary Capturing the Friedmans to you Netflix queue.

3. They Can’t Afford More Than 1 Car. Judging by the clowns mode of transportation — a Volkswagen Bug or Serbian-style two-seater that magically fits the driver and 8,000 of his rainbow-colored pals — it appears that clowns don’t actually earn a real living. They can’t even afford the kind of car homeless drive! Meaning that clowns, for whatever reason, choose to do the devil’s work for pittance. Pittance! Which might go to explain why clowns eat their dinner directly out of the can of baked beans instead of a bowl, and why they sometimes use their hands instead of the classier “wooden spoon”.

2. That Red Paint Around Their Lips? The blood of the elderly. That, or fire-engine red lipstick. Either way, creepskies!

1. John Wayne Gacy, or Clowns Will gotYou and Bury You Under Their House.Killer Klowns from Outer Space aside, John Wayne Gacy is, gigantic inflatable hands down, the scariest thing to ever happen within the clown community. Gacy m****d 33 teenagers in his town and buried 31 of those bodies under his house. And, according to Gacy’s wiki page (Warning: Do not read after 5 PM), “He said he used his clown act as an alter ego, once sardonically saying that ‘A clown can get away with murder.’” (throat clear) A CLOWN CAN GET AWAY WITH MURDER!!!
Honorable Mention: Insane Clown Posse. Terrifying, no doubt. But ever since The Arsenio Hall Show, we just can’t take the word “posse” seriously anymore.

Untitled

Happy. Sad. I should be fun.
I make the bravest of them run.
I look into your eyes to find
the weakest link into your mind.
I paint my face to smile or frown.
Beware of me I am a clown.

Lyn Hernandez

Ironically I found this clown on a hunt for "Happy" clowns!!!!! Pisser...:)

Monday, August 30, 2010

NOUN: soft jelly candy: a candy made with flavored gelatin, cut into cubes and dusted with powdered sugar

Mmmmm. Doesn't that sound wonderful? Well it's not. At least not the one I tried the other night. It looked different. These guys pictured above look really tasty. The kind I tried were domed, and chocolate covered. I found a picture of the brand I tried. They look harmless right?

Click on the image to read a review. It doesn't even begin to describe the horrible taste I experienced. They actually use the words "sweet" and "aromatic". I am not going to argue about the aromatic part, because it sure was.

Picture the worst smelling and horrible tasting cough syrup ever. Now turn it into a gelatin candy. Finally, cover the evil concoction in milk chocolate. What you get is the perfect gift to get for your significant other when they piss you off.

I feel guilty that I didn't like it. A couple of co-workers had gone to England on vacation, and they brought back a container full of European candies. The Turkish Delight was among them. I was stationed at Lackenheath, AFB back in 1991, and I lived in Thetford (both are in England). How did I not discover this back then? I could have had so much fun at Christmas. "Hi there! Remember me? No? That's OK. I've sent you some Turkish Delights. Enjoy!" I bet they'd be thinking about me for quite some time. Or at least until the after taste faded.

So it was to my dismay that on that unfortunate day I, Lyn, willfully placed the above mentioned product into my mouth. The result of which was an immediate expelling, and gagging while cursing the makers of the hideous "Delight". Thankfully, the only witness to my unfortunate event (Hee. Hee. Get the book reference?) was "L" (She rocks, but not giving her name. You never know.)

We laughed at the irony of it's name, and my inability to stop making a puking face. Delight's? Yeah right. Liars!

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

I love my family. We are quirky, and different in our own special way. What makes us come together is food. I made it a point to make sure we gathered as a unit to share in our activities. You know the everyday "What is going on with you?," and the typical "How have you been?" chatter. We just made sure we added great food.

I can talk on end about Tony's(Tony my brother, and not my food crush Tony Bourdaine ) Jerk Chicken, or his homemade Teriyaki sauce, but I don't have those recipes. I can tell you that just the smell makes you drool, and the sauce makes you want to lick your fingers like a child trying to finish off an ice-cream sandwich in 90 degree weather. Yeah. It's that good.

I rock my own BBQ. I know my brother would back me up when I say I do a fine Pulled Pork Butt/Shoulder. It is slowly roasted either in the oven, or on the grill. Guess which one I prefer?

It's all about the smoke and fire. I can work with gas too, but it takes away from the flavor. If you do gas grilling you have to add more rub and wetness. This means you have to add liquid. If you have the meat in a pan (hopefully wrapped in foil) you should add liquid. I'd be creative, but for my purpose I like to add water only and maybe some smashed cloves of garlic and a bit of cola.

Why? It's because I have rubbed the crap out of the poor thing, and then made it set for a day. Now I am subjecting it to a low and slow cooking method.

FYI if you are doing this indoors the results are very different. If you can wrap the roast in foil and set it on a rack in a roaster pan you can still get the same flavor. With pork shoulders/butts you should always put the fatty/skin side on the top. The fat cooks off into the meat, thus more moisture. Use a good sized pan to catch the drippings, and hopefully you have a fan or ventilation. Make sure to let it set 20 minutes or more depending on size before cutting into it. If you slice into it prematurely (not waiting) and the good juices will run out and you are left with dried pork. Blah! So don't do it. Wait.

Contact me if you want to know more specifics. I'll give you my recipe for the rub. Don't forget that this is messy. Someone has to pull the pork apart. I suggest Cole slaw, and Beans as sides. Corn tortillas, or rolls work well. We use corn tortillas with the pork, and I like my black beans with slaw.

Yum.

Food, family, fun.

Seriously. Food is the glue that keeps families together. Learn how to double, or triple your recipes. Ask someone to bring the salad, and another to bring the bread. If you have picky kids, or kids with allergies make sure to pack them their favorites to make them feel included. If you tell the host/hostess ahead of time they may actually do something that lends to their needs.

If you need assistance please let me know.

Lyn

P.S. Cilantro is Parsley on steroids. It's big, bold, and beautiful in its flavor. Add that to your pasta, and see what your mouth thinks!

Friday, August 13, 2010

Hi there. Remember me? I am the blogger who abandoned ship. Ha! Not really. There was a method to my madness. I had decided to extricate myself from all social networking sites, and anything that was consuming my precious time with my family.

So just was I up too? I was going to write about everything, but that's boring. Instead I decided to show you. No it's not video. Just images and pictures.

I could go on and on, butthatis also boring. Alrighty then. I guess I am done for now.

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

It is the the little things in life that make me smile. I sometimes can get caught in a fit of giggles for seeing even a muscle twitch. What I think is funny may make the normal person scratch their head, but for me, the ache in my side is only a reminder of how different I see the world.

One of the simple things I've been doing lately is engaging people in conversation. I say "Hello." or "Pleasant day isn't it?", and then I wait for a response. I received a lot of smiles with returned pleasantries. (Most people looked confused at first while a waited for them to answer me.)

Most people don't expect you to actually listen. I found that to be funny. Why on earth would we ask questions and then walk away?

"Hey there. How are you?"

"I'm good, but my Gran is dyin'."

"Yeah. Well you look great. Mikey get your little behind back here!"

"Um. Thanks. I..."

"Tell your Gran I said hello! Bye."

See. That is not supposed to be funny right? I think it is hysterical.

Everyone is a critic. It is so much easier to find fault in someone else, than it is to reflect. I've heard the whole "I am my own worst critic" crap, and I don't believe a word.

In today's society we are leaning more toward on-line social networking, but it appears to me that in what should be liberating and freeing experience, instead we are still bound by the very same labels and constrictions we have in real life.

I am sure I do not have to go into the social network standing details to get you to understand that Tweeting is the ADD(Attention Deficit Disorder) version of FB (FaceBook). I belong to both (sigh). I blame my friend Matt for getting me to Tweet again after I swore it off, and FB comes in handy for family and friends, but that's where it ends.

I have read a lot of blogs, and blogger thoughts on social sites regarding what the likes and dislikes were of blogs in general, and the results astounded me. It amazes me that anyone still has an active site.

I took three steps back. I had to go away. I can't think of why bloggers/people/humans would not like other fellow bloggers/people/humans form of creativity.

If we have a problem with it let's fix it.

I am the worst at grammatically anything, and I hate comma's.

Maybe someone could help the linkphobic, or help with some of the applications.

OK. Maybe people have a hard time trusting others on the Web, but that does not mean you can't assist in your neighborhood.

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

You know what? I hate injuries that don't have some interesting story behind them.

Kind of like a month, or so ago when I flipped over a child's chair in a doctor's office.

Boring. Sure it hurt like hell, but it would have been way funnier if it were in a different scenario.

Same injury, but now I'm on a HOT date with Mr. Who-cares-if-he-is-right. I am in a swanky restaurant that I have been dying to go to for months on end.

Upon us being seated, Mr. Who-cares orders a bottle of wine I've never heard of (Like I'd know a good one from a bad one anyway). I have a case of the nerves, so I've swallowed the first glass down before my Mr.Who has smelled the bouquet of something or other. I'm just nodding in agreement.

Oh great! I have to pee. I can't go. We just got here. So I politely carry on with the dinner.

Has anyone ever understood the Wait Staff when they come over and hurriedly spew out the menu? Why do they look confused when you ask them what was the first one again?

I have now had one glass of water (hoping to offset the wine), two and a half glasses of wine, a tasters snip of something apple like (yum), and one snippet of bubbly sweet wine (Sparkling wine). Somewhere between the tastings I lost my Pee signal.

Uh oh. I now have got to go so bad it's ugly. I excuse myself with Mr. Who, and do my best not to race to the bathrooms. I get to the overly flowered facility and throw open a door to my Pee Heaven.

I am done right . Nope.

You see, they have these people in those bathrooms. I know that they are there to help you out. Most people just tip them and never make eye-contact. They can tell when a fellow female in their Sisterhood is down and needs assistance.

In this version I am falling to my knees as I slide into the Ladies Room. I am disregarding the Pain I have acquired from my scrambling. I made it to the toilet.

I did not piss my pants.

Oh crap. I somehow have to make it back to Mr. Who.

Screw it. He is probably flirting with the wait staff still.

OK. Stay away from Pain, but if you see her just kindly let her know she will never take me down.

Tuesday, March 30, 2010

I had another restless night of sleep. I just love staring at the ceiling pretending to count sheep.

That never works for me anyhow.

Somehow it ends up that the sheep are part of the dinner menu on an Anthony Bourdaine No Reservations episode.

So while I was lying there wondering when sleep would return to me, I realized that my feet had managed to become uncovered. I freaked out and began shifting the blankets back to their intended positions on the bed.

Whew! That was close. Could you image what horrors would have had their way with my unsuspecting toes? I shudder at the very thought. It's all good now though, my feet are safe.

Yeah I know. Kind of silly huh? Lyn is afraid of the foot monster. I mean, come on. If a Bogey man, or an intruder were to come into the house, the last thing on their fake/or real mind is not going to be "Let's get Lyn's feet."

I don't even remember when it started, this irrational fear of exposed digits. I'm sure there is some sort of phobia out there dedicated to such a thing.

I think it stems from my fear of the monster under the bed. I was always terrified of getting out of bed at night, because he'd get my foot for sure and then suck me under the bed never to be heard from again.

To make matters worse, if my cat Zona is sleeping with me and the feet come out, she immediately attacks the big toe on either foot. Yup. She latches on and "love" bites me. Could you imagine what this does to an unsuspecting sleeper? I've been ripped out of many a good dreams by Ms. Zona.

So you see? I can't win either way. Either the imaginary monsters are going to get me, or Zona will do it for them.

My only option, besides therapy and locking the cat out of the room, is to sleep with boots on.

Saturday, March 20, 2010

My Beautiful son woke me up this morning with a question that blindsided me.

"Are you a true Princess Mom?

"Huh? Am I a what?"

"You know. A true Princess."

"Mommy is not a Princess honey. Not even close." I grumbled.

"Why?" He asked innocently enough.

"Because I can't sleep on peas." I thought this was a clever response and would stump him enough to walk away.

"You're silly Mommy! We don't sleep on peas!"

"Yeah. I know. That's why I can't be a princess."

"Oh. What if we eat the peas?"

"It doesn't count Zach. Everybody eats peas."

"Noooo. Auntie Molly doesn't eat her peas."

"Does't count. Molly is a Queen. OK. Enough of this princess stuff please."

"OK. Um Mom?"

"Sigh....What?"

"I wish you had a million dollars. Then you could be a true Princess."

"A million dollars would be handy."

"Well how much money do you have?"

"Not enough honey. I'm a million dollars short of a million." Hee hee. That ought to get him.

"Oh. So you're just a poor old Mom then. Well I'm going to be a true Princess! And the I'm going to turn into Iron Man and save the world."

"You go do that honey. This old lady is still tired."

I didn't want to tell him that I am Queen of this castle, and that makes him my little Prince Charming. I'm liking the Iron Man idea much better. Go save the world Zach! We need more heroes in this world.

Monday, February 8, 2010

I have got me a case of the winter blues. I've little to no attention span. I have started several projects, but have no drive to complete any of them.

I have had lots of weird things happen to me, or around me. I actually was considering if I had lost my mind, or quite possibly losing it in bits and pieces.

I get inspired to write something profound and as quickly as it comes to me it's gone, and replaced with some nonsensical idea that would land me a free meal ticket to a mental institution for a very long time.

Monday, February 1, 2010

There are so many different levels and types of pain that I wouldn't know where to begin. I have been under the care of a pain management team for over five years now due to a car accident. For that reason alone I deem myself knowledgeable in the pain department. If you disagree, that's cool. Onward we go.

When you are assessed as a patient under pain management care, they have you rate the pain on a scale of 1-10, one being low pain, and ten being extreme. I actually thought they were joking with me when I first met with them. Here I am in pain, but you want me to put a number on it? OK. So if I understate it I won't recover, but if I overstate it I may do more damage to myself by having them mis-treat me.

I don't want to put a number on my pain, especially because it changes with circumstance. Of course I am not going to be in as much pain if I am home reading a book vs. being at work and on my feet for eight hours. If there is a storm coming, don't bother checking the weather channel, just ask me. I have actually proven Dr. Mel wrong more than a few times. Sorry Dr. Mel. Don't worry. You still rock!

That being said, here is my story.

Doctor appointments: A. Must be kept always., B. Arrive on time, or at least 15 minutes early., C. Have waiting rooms filled with annoying people., D. All of the above plus so much more.

The Children's Medical Center is by far the best place to have your child cared for. Zachary went through his surgery with the great Dr. M. for his tonsils and adenoids. Sure he had loads of complications, but it was not for lack of care. Zachary bounced back from that after close to 5 days of hell on my part.

So here I am again. It's a different location, but one thing remains the same, the waiting room was made for kids. I am a big kid myself, so I don't mind one bit.

This room was huge, and in three sections. Depending on the purpose for your visit pretty much summed up where you sat. We were there for a "middle" reason which was great because they had toys.

Z-man headed straight for the Lego's.

Mom and I chose chairs closest to the window where I had to do the paperwork. In front of us stood a child's table and "mini-me" chairs. You know what I am talking about. Adult furniture shrunk to fit the wee ones. To my left I have a set of parents and their adorable baby girl. To my right I have a lovely young woman and a son a bit older than Z. I have to give alias' to avoid confusion, and because I feel that the idiots, aka parents, do not deserve my acknowledgement at all, I will stick with "idiots" for them. The lovely young lady who was so pleasant to my son I will call "Eva". That's Z's Eva from Wally.

Clipboard in hand and several signatures later I am in a chair doing the routine history required by us every time we go somewhere new. Zach is playing at the table right in front of me. Grandma is in the chair to my immediate left, and the idiots are 3 feet diagonal from her.

"Idiots" put "sweet baby" on the floor. Aw how cute is that? Um. Idiots, my kid has on hard Starter sneakers, and has no clue that your precious is right near his foot. I get a bit tense and ask Z to move to the opposite side of the table. This is where he meets "Eva".

"Eva" was very sweet, and I am guessing Indonesian. It's a compliment. She was beyond gorgeous. Her actions is what made me think how shallow we are. How when faced with an uncomfortable situation you either become an "idiot" or perhaps a hero.

They called Zachary. That's how my pain was about to become this THING that I didn't know existed. My son's name and a sucker punch of burn and searing pain.

Why? Oh. That's real simple. Because the "idiots" that heard and saw me move Zachary to the other side of the table for the safety of "sweet baby" and her precious little fingers, they were enjoying her crawling on the floor. Can anyone say eww?

I get up and call Z's name. He is to my right with Eva. I go to step forward, and what do you think I see? Yup. It's "sweet baby" and this all happens so fast I can't really explain it as well as I want to.

I see her and shift my step. In front of me is the chair that Z just left and I tried to maneuver myself but fail miserably. I connect with the now vacant mini-me chair that Z was using not so long ago, and it hits me.

I am going down. HARD.

What I see is "sweet baby" so my leg jerks away to avoid hurting her. The other leg tries to go over the silly little chair, but instead connects and proceeds to take this overly conscious friendly mom and turns me into a screaming pile of creative cursing bitch. I wasn't bitchy to everyone. I pretty much hated anyone who touched my legs. You slip and face plant in front of a bunch of people and see if you want to be friendly.

I calmed down after I was told to breathe for the 100th time. Pain. Oh the pain. All I could say was it burns.

I can't get a date but I sure had enough Emergency response people present. Thank you to all who helped me.

It has been 5 days since the Ouch incident. I really want to thank the "idiots" who never asked if I was OK after the3 whole ordeal was done. Way to show your daughter that a non-responsive action is best in an emergency you dumb ass.

I would like to thank Eva and her son (I didn't catch his name), for sticking around even though you were done just to make sure I was OK.

And a huge Thanks to the Nurse who in her time off called me that night to see if I was doing OK as well. Seriously people . Think about it. A nurse on her own time calling someone she doesn't know. I was in awe. We cracked a couple of injury jokes and said goodnight.

I HATE PAIN.

But I love people.

Hugs and kisses.

Lyn

Disclaimer: Idiots can be anyone. If you think that I wrote this about you then you pretty much labeled yourself.

Thursday, January 14, 2010

Bob the "Evil" hamster was at it again last night. I am not exactly sure how it went down, but Bob pulled an incredible escape act while I was asleep.

Bob is the cutest hamster ever. Well of course he is. Duh. I picked him out. That's where the problem lies. I should not be allowed to pick out animals period. Most people would go in and say "Yeah. Just gimme that one over there." Done deal.

Me? Nope. "Aw. How cute is he? Look mom he is walking on his hind legs waving a baton." This is followed by silence. "What? Didn't you see him do the back flip? Whatever. I'll take that one!"

So. Mr. Bob got a little tubby and I had to expand his cage with all the cool attachments I could find. Only the best for my buddy Bob. His new pad had lots of tubes and hiding holes. The best feature, however, was the silent hamster wheel. Well, I found out that the only way the wheel can be silent is if your "evil" hamster didn't ram 8oz of wood shavings and hammy treats into the wheel, and then proceed to run a marathon.

OK. Not a problem. I worked around it. I removed the wheel at night before bed and replaced it in the morning. It was working I swear, but remember Bob is not normal. That is the last time I watch G-force with him in the room. The cage sits almost 3 feet off the floor, and the wheel gets set on the floor so I can just pop it back on in the morning. All exits in this cage are blocked by cute little bubble tube things with the exception of the ceiling. Two holes on one side provide for necessities one for water, and the other food. I have his water tube set in one, but I chose to bowl feed him so he can hoard. The second hole is blocked by plug (hamster proof HA!) that obviously can be dislodged by el supremo hamstero.

2:55 am and I hear: squeak...squeak...squeak. What is that? I thought I took the wheel off. Does anyone want to figure this one out? Yes. Bob had Mission Impossibled himself out of the cage, and then instead of running for the hills, or chewing his way into another room he chose to climb into the wheel that was on the floor. It wasn't even upright. It was lying on its side so the dummy had to climb in and run in circles for real. My hamster escaped and he chose to stay close to home and trap himself. Why was this funny two hours ago and not so much now? Never mind. Bob just started running in his wheel of terror after spitting a mouth full of treats to torture me. Evil hamster!

Tuesday, January 12, 2010

By raise of hands how many of you remember when I lost my glasses last year? I think I saw two, but then again I am looking at a monitor asking to see hands raised. If you noticed the change of profile picture that would be me last year after I received new specs.

It appears that I was destined to repeat my loss again. I have not said a word for a month now, but I am ticked off. I loved my glasses.

I have the privilege of visiting the mighty Dr. Fei so he can blast my eyes once again, and tell me my vision sucks. I jest folks. Dr Fei rules! My vision does not. So, I plan on torturing the LensWear girl if I get her again. I will ask to try on each and every non-adult frame. Maybe this time she will realize that I am an adult. If you are scratching your head wondering what the heck I am talking about stay tuned I will give a full story after I get the new frames.

Well, I am off for now, but I have to say that I really am honored that the SITS ladies have stopped by to welcome me. I also find it kind of disturbing that those that normally pop in to say "Hey" have been MIA.

I am the Queen of www-wild weird & wacky, and I still find it disturbing.

Friday, January 8, 2010

Hey there everyone. What a wonderful day it's been. I am pumped full of SB Triple shot Venti Mocha Latte, and it's almost midnight. I think I may be up for a while. Thankfully I have tomorrow off.

Question: Would you give up half of what you now own for a pill that would permanently change you so that one hour of sleep each day would fully refresh you?

Um. Yes please. The way I see it is I hardly own anything to begin with so I wouldn't be that upset giving up half of nothing. And with the new found strength that I would gain in being refreshed after minimal sleep I could optimize my ability to actually obtain "things" to own.

What I mean is, I would be able to use the extra time to study and advance myself in the field of my choice without the constraint of time and energy. Yeah. If only it were possible.

Sweet dreams to all.

Lyn

Don't you hate it when the waiter/waitress asks "Is everything OK here?" right after you've taken a big bite of food?

Wednesday, January 6, 2010

Well it's now 2010, and I have managed to do absolutely nothing. Actually that's not true. I have done 3 globe puzzles, and have watched all 10 seasons of Friends. Exciting huh?

Anyway, I have reached my 200th post. I thought for sure I'd have something thrilling cooked up for a post, but nope it's just another day here at Once upon a....

Space Cadets

What's taking so long?" thought one of the two robbers of a local grocery store in Larch Barrens, Maryland. The dimwitted duo thought the laser they had stolen earlier would cut through the store's safe like it was butter. Maybe they had the setting wrong. Maybe the safe was stronger than they thought. Or maybe they were just stupid. When the police arrived, the two were still hunched over the safe, trying to cut through to the money hidden inside. The police confiscated the laser, and the two admitted they had stolen it from a local amusement center earlier in the day. It was a Lazer Tag gun, a battery-operated toy, and the two had been shining its harmless light on the safe for nearly an hour before the police arrived. Beam me up Scotty. There's no sign of intelligent life on this planet.

Each day that comes and goes is another page in my neverending fairytale.

Hi there. This blog wreaks like rotten garbage. If you read it you may experience eye twitching and/or nausea. If you are still interested, please proceed to my useless knowledge, and always morphing blog. Don't say I didn't warn you.